


My Love Will Be Your Breath

by cunning_capra



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Fishing, Homeric Epithets, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, M/M, Purple Prose, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27513055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunning_capra/pseuds/cunning_capra
Summary: Thanatos wishes he could live in this moment forever - boisterous, endearing Zagreus, sitting on the edge of the Lethe, worry lines and bruises softened by laughter.A rendezvous between Death and the Prince on the bank of a river.
Relationships: Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 127





	My Love Will Be Your Breath

Something has called to pale skinned Death, son of night - a gentle siren song in a sea of stopped hearts. It is not the usual tidal pull of impending demise, close at hand and ever-looming. No, fading life he knows intimately; the salt drenched brow, the blood-stained breast. But it is not death that renders him aloft now, hurtling towards its source. Thanatos knows not what calls him, only that he is called - a gentle tug along a thread not unlike Ariadne’s, shepherding him through the darkness. It is but a glimmer in the back of his mind, a flame flickering, licking at his senses, casting long shadows on the walls of his thoughts.

It is an inconsequential corner of Elysium he finds himself in, warping out of darkness and into light. The grove hovers in the eternal space of not quite day and not quite night, the fog off the river casting an eerie sheen over the space. A tree bends its empty branches towards the water, reaching, but never touching, and the Lethe flows on, unknowing, uncaring. It simply is what it has always been. A force of nature, of life. Of death. Of forgetting. 

It is here that Death finds the prince.

“Zagreus,” Death says.

“Than, what are you doing here?” Zagreus’ voice is warm but strained. He leans back from where he had been hunched forward over the river, fishing pole in hand. His mismatched eyes gleam in the endless emerald twilight, and if Thanatos had a life to give to another, he would surely lay it down at his prince’s feet.

“I could ask the same of you, Zag,” The emissary of death says evenly. His eyes trace the arch of Zagreus’ neck, the muscles stretched tight as he contorts himself to see Death clearly. There is a cool breeze in Elysium tonight, the wind off the river brushing through the prince’s dark hair. Thanatos thinks of what a stark relief it must be, after the torturous heat of Asphodel, “Water getting too stale back at home?”

If the prince of the underworld enjoys the wind in his hair, he shows no sign of it. He lets loose a wild laugh, eyes crinkling with joyous mirth. Thanatos wishes he could live in this moment forever - boisterous, endearing Zagreus, sitting on the edge of the Lethe, worry lines and bruises softened by laughter. But it’s over too quickly, and the prince is back to watching his bait bob in and out of the frothy, swirling water, feet dangling dangerously close to the current. Thanatos, master of dead men, knows not what to think of this. Cannot fathom what Zagreus is fishing for in the depths of a river of memory. 

But the reasoning behind Zagreus’ recent actions is similarly lost on him, and thus he does not seek these answers of the willful youth. 

“Is there something you wish to forget?” Thanatos asks instead, voice slow and hesitant to his own ears. He lets his feet alight on the dew-kissed grass, and Death sinks to his knees on soft earth. Zagreus raises his eyebrows minutely, an easy smile flitting across his face. 

“Oh a great many things I’m sure,” Zagreus responds, shrugging his broad shoulders. His sparking feet swing idly off the bank, and he bumps his knee against Thanatos’ in easy camaraderie, “I’m sure you can guess.”

“Your father,” Thanatos says dryly, an old, dull ache spreading through his chest. He leans back on his hands, right hand only inches from Zagreus’ left. He doesn’t bridge the gap, curling his fingers into the tall luscious grass instead, “And his house.”

“My father indeed,” Zagreus agrees with a snort, “And Than. Listen to me. It’s not _you_ that I want to leave behind. Let alone anyone else in my father’s house for that matter.”

“Zagreus,” Thanatos begins warningly, “You-”

Zagreus’ bait jolts in the water, and the prince crows in excitement, drowning out whatever woeful utterance Death had almost let slip. Thanatos does his best to hide his amusement when the hook comes up empty. 

“Well, maybe next time,” Zagreus says, looking for all the world twice, if not thrice, his age. He casts his line back out into the water, rolling his neck with an ungodly crack. 

Thanatos is reminded vividly of Zagreus rising from the Pool of Styx, blood dripping from his forehead, mouth set in grim determination. The darkness swallowing him whole again and again and again. The blood is the worst part, he thinks, watching the apple of Zagreus’ throat bob, the stench of it that lingers, with each subsequent death. It doesn’t ever seem to get easier. The pain of Zagreus’ deaths, echoing in the cavern of his chest.

“I...What are you hoping to achieve?” Thanatos asks quietly, the question lacking its usual bite. He is aware of the throbbing headache building in the back of his skull, of the call of the dead in the world above - he cannot keep putting off the inevitable.

Neither of them can, he thinks, watching as Zagreus slumps against his shoulder, a bitter laugh pulled sweetly from his throat.

“Today? Today I just want to catch a fish.”

For now, that is enough, Thanatos supposes, feeling the warmth of Zagreus’ skin against his, the rebellious flames of heat flooding his senses drunkenly. There is no need for nectar or the sweet delights of Dionysus’ table, not in a world where Thanatos has Zagreus at his side. 

Cautiously, gently, he takes the fishing rod from Zagreus’ callused fingers, molded by a war to the surface he may never even win - and sets it aside, driving the handle into damp yielding soil. He considers the dark circles under Zagreus’ eyes. The weary set of his shoulders, the pallor of his blood-reddened skin.

“Where did this come from, Zag?” He murmurs, pressing his thumb against a blistering red cut across Zagreus’ square chin, stroking the digit along the length of it. Zagreus hisses in discomfort but does not pull away, meeting Death’s eyes head-on as he leans into the touch. 

“Oh, you know old Lernie,” ox-eyed Zagreus says, tilting his head coyly to the side, “always likes to get the last word in.”

Thanatos hums, pausing his caress to cup the prince’s angular jaw. In the half-light of Elysium, he examines the thin curve of his mouth, the challenging arch of his brow. 

Thanatos’s own line is strung tight, hook long buried in the vicinity of his ribs, ushering him to the surface of revelation. It is the nimble-fingered Fates he thinks, plucking the strings of opportunity. His sisters are weaving a tapestry too devastating to bear, but too beautiful not to touch. 

“That sounds familiar,” Thanatos sighs, and against his better judgment, kisses him.

And Zagreus, twice-born Zagreus with wild eyes and a wicked smile opens before him, blooms for him, mouth meeting his eagerly, fingers twisting through the dark fabric of his achiton.

And iron-hearted Thanatos _melts_.

“Not the catch I thought I’d be making today,” Zagreus says in good nature, pulling away to push down Death’s dark cowl. His hand curls through Thanatos’ soft hair and he grins boyishly. Thanatos can’t find the words to speak, so he doesn’t - instead leaning forward and kissing the prince desperately. He clings to Zagreus like the dead reaching through the depths of the river Styx, hands outstretched, land just out of reach- but _Zagreus_ , Zagreus catches him and pulls him ashore, chapped mouth laughing against his own, rough hands circling his waist.

Thanatos, Death incarnate, knows not what to do with the excited jump of Zagreus’ pulse, blood rolling through his veins. Doesn’t know what to do with a beating heart, a breath of life, soft and warm and lovingly given.

Although his mouth is sweetly occupied, he knows he is needed, being pulled away by another tug, another thread. It is not the first time he resents his role in this world, and he knows it will not be the last. But there is always work to be done in the realm of Hades, always another job to be undertaken. Death waits for none, and his senses buzz with the call of his work. And yet he cannot focus, senses pleasantly addled. Tender lips and strong crushing arms, press into him, drinking him in.

“I have to go,” He admits into the corner of Zagreus’ mouth, pressing a lingering kiss on that dimple, as he has oft-ached to do. He hesitates - and Death embraces the fleet-footed prince tightly, taking stock of each breath as it leaves his tender lungs, “We can discuss... _this_ later I presume?”

“When I get back,” Zagreus, beloved of Thanatos, smiles against him, “I always do, don't I?

Thanatos doesn’t have the heart to speak it, nor the energy now to contest it - to say that one day, Zagreus will not return. That one day Zagreus will prevail, and the House of Hades will fall into a tepid silence. Empty, and too large in his absence. And Thanatos will miss him. Will search for him in every face he passes in the mortal realm. In every soul he ushers to the other side. Miss him in each moment, every breath-

“Yes,” He says simply instead, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against Zagreus’. He savors the brush of Zagreus’ nose, the soft puff of air as he releases a breath. Thinks of Zagreus, rising from the Pool of Styx, again and again and again - “Always.”

It is not a lie and it is not the truth but it is... enough. For Death who has carved his place in his companion’s heart and called it home. For he is not alone. As long as Zagreus lives and breathes, and rises from the red blood of the Styx born anew, it will be enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter: [@cunningcapra](https://twitter.com/cunningcapra)
> 
> Title from Canary in a Coal Mine by The Crane Wives
> 
> I did the best research I could on Homeric epithets, in terms of finding common uses for these gods and their cults, trying to craft my own, and downright pulling some from other gods and Greek literary figures. I definitely took some creative liberty with it all, so please excuse any inaccuracies. If I write another Hades fic it will undoubtedly not be in this style again because this was largely an experimental exploit.


End file.
